read about him in various articles relating to Lawrence Durant’s shock death…the man who was now in charge of the vast financial empire, steadying the ripples on the stock exchange…the man groomed by the great tycoon to take over from him…Lawrence Durant’s protégé and right hand. But none of the articles had been accompanied by a photograph.
It was seeing his face again that had got to her, releasing a flood of the ambivalent feelings he’d always stirred. Stupid! she savagely berated herself. One thing was certain. If this was the start of a new phase in her life, he wouldn’t be featuring in it. There was no reason for him to ever mix with the Durant family again. He now had what he wanted, the top spot with no one to answer to except the shareholders.
A furious energy coursed through her as she entered the airport terminal, spotted a rubbish bin and strode straight over to it, ridding herself of the photographic reminder of a man who wasn’t worth thinking about. Of course she would see him at the funeral tomorrow. Richard Seymour could hardly miss that. But no-one could force her to have anything to do with him. Not any more. Lawrence Durant was dead.
It was still raining when she stepped out of the terminal. Luckily she didn’t have to queue for a taxi-cab. There were plenty waiting. She ran to one, jumped into the back seat, hauling her bag with her, shut the door and gave the address of her hotel to the driver. He zipped off into the line of traffic and Leigh tried to relax.
Impossible task. She stared broodingly out at the wet street, a zigzag of lights reflected in sheets of streaming water. A dark and stormy night…was it an omen? Should she have stayed in Broome, keeping the past pushed behind her? Was she on a totally hopeless mission?
No point in not going through with it now, she stubbornly reasoned. She was here. Tomorrow she would go to Lawrence Durant’s funeral, see her mother and sisters, and their attitude towards her would determine if she had a place here or not. One day was probably all it would take to settle her future course. At the very least, she wouldn’t be left wondering for the rest of her life.
CHAPTER TWO
NOTHING had changed…
Leigh stood in the grand reception room of the Durant mansion, feeling the same oppressive sense of being utterly worthless as she had as a teenager, as a child. It was as though she’d moved back in time and all she had escaped from was swamping her again; the insecurities, the rejections, the fear of not fitting in, the despair of not belonging.
It should be different now, she fiercely told herself. Lawrence Durant—her father for the first eighteen years of her life—was dead. Surely his repressive, tyrannical force had died with him, leaving her mother and sisters free to follow their own inclinations instead of kowtowing to his rule. Was it too soon for them to realise he was truly gone? Hadn’t the funeral today brought that home to them?
Conversation at the chapel service had naturally been limited. The shock of seeing her after so long an absence might have caused a loss of words, too, but why were they avoiding her now, ignoring her presence, leaving her completely alone? If they would only show her a glimmer of welcome…
Feeling hopelessly ill at ease amongst the crowd of notable people who filled the reception room, paying their last respects to a man who’d wielded wealth and power, Leigh felt a jab of hopeful relief on seeing her mother detach herself from one mourners’ group and move away, unaccompanied. She moved quickly to intercept her, touching her arm to draw attention.
“Mother?”
Alicia Durant shot her youngest daughter a brief, impatient glance. “Not now, Leigh. I must get back to Richard.”
It was the barest pause, a frowning acknowledgement, so devoid of warmth it made Leigh shrivel inside. She dropped her hand and watched with a sense of wretched helplessness as her mother made a beeline towards the man who already had the undivided attention of her four sisters.
Richard Seymour…the heir apparent of Lawrence Durant’s financial empire, presiding over the great tycoon’s funeral and this ostentatious wake in the family mansion. She’d refused to even glance at him at the funeral. Looking at him now brought an instant resurgence of her old hatred of him.
He was still everything she wasn’t and never could be…what Lawrence Durant had wanted of his fifth child…the shining son to carry on from him. Except the fifth child his wife had delivered was Leigh, another daughter by another man, a total reject who’d never shown any attributes worth the slightest bit of notice, apart from disapproving notice. Cruel notice when comparisons were made to Richard Seymour, the chosen one.
He certainly shone in every department—looks, brains, personal charisma. The aura of power and success and confident purpose literally pulsed from him. Leigh deliberately turned her back on him, telling herself none of this mattered any more. She no longer had any reason to hate Richard Seymour. She’d made her own life away from everything Lawrence Durant had ever touched, and had only come to his funeral out of a sense of closure to that miserable part of her life.
And to see if she meant anything to the rest of her family…her mother and sisters.
It was self-defeating to let these old feelings get to her today. She no longer wished to be something she wasn’t. It had taken her a long time to become her own person—six struggling, lonely years—and Richard Seymour could not affect that now. If she could just show her family that she’d come of age, more or less, and that things could be different…
Leigh heaved a sigh to relieve the painful tightness in her chest. Her mother and sisters were probably dancing attendance on Richard Seymour out of habit. The king is dead. Long live the king. Except Richard was not family, so Leigh didn’t really understand their fixation on him. He couldn’t rule their lives as Lawrence Durant had. Not with the same iron hand and surely not with the same cruel judgement of crime and punishment.
Maybe when the wake was over and all these people who had to be impressed were gone, there would be a better opportunity to re-unite with her family. She’d give it a chance anyhow, one concerted effort to mend the bridges she’d broken in fleeing from the unbearable existence she’d led in this house.
Meanwhile, there seemed little point and no pleasure in hanging around the edges of this crowd, forced to chat to people who could only see her as a curiosity. She made her way out to the back patio which was not in use, due to a gusty wind which would undoubtedly discomfort most guests.
It didn’t worry Leigh. She wasn’t wearing a hat and she didn’t have a fancy hairstyle that could be ruined. The thick mass of her almost waist-length hair could be untangled with a brush when she went back inside.
She wandered over to the steps leading down to the gardens which were terraced to the water’s edge, and paused to look out over the much prized vista of Sydney Harbour. Last night’s rain had gone but it was a grey winter day, no warmth or sparkle anywhere. Even the boats seemed to be hurrying to get to their destination.
She thought of the seaport of Broome, high up on the coast of the other side of Australia where there was constant heat, turquoise waters, and “hurry” was a foreign word—a different life a long way from this city. But had she really made her home there or was it still a refuge?
“Leigh…”
Her head jerked around at the unexpected call of her name. Nerves already shredded by being virtually ignored by her family were instantly on edge. Richard… Richard Seymour…seeking her out for attention? He was so closely entwined with Lawrence Durant in her mind, fear clutched at her heart, making it skitter until defiance
